


Somnambulist

by talxns



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Canon Universe, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28948944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talxns/pseuds/talxns
Summary: "The master is up," Claude is told in a whisper.
Relationships: Claude Faustus/Alois Trancy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	Somnambulist

It’s midnight.

Claude is accounting finances in his office when one of the triplets enters. He doesn’t look up. He waits for him to come to his side to speak in his ear.

“The master is up,” he says in a whisper.

Claude sets his quill pen aside.

This is not completely unexpected. Sometimes if the boy seems restless before bed, he’ll stay awake, usually in his own rooms.

But after his tiring fencing lesson in the afternoon, he was quite docile while being put to bed, and so his waking during this hour is of interest.

Perhaps a bad dream awoke him from his slumber? But then again, in those instances, he wastes no time in calling out for his butler’s company and comfort.

Claude caps his inkwell and stands. It is his responsibility to tend to the little master in all circumstances, after all.

His subordinate leads him to the hall that connects to the informal dining room, where Hannah is standing beside the closed door.

“I take it you could not put him to bed,” Claude sneers lowly.

Hannah’s face is irritated at Claude’s condescending tone, but her anxiety dominates her expression. “He wouldn’t listen to me.”

Claude hums knowingly. The boy’s dislike for the other servants is well acknowledged.

“He wasn’t responding to me at all, Claude. Something’s wrong,” she persists, serious.

That’s interesting. He’s usually quite ready to snap at the maid if she suggests anything to him. Ignoring her completely is new, and quite frankly a better alternative for everyone involved. Perhaps the boy is learning.

“Stand aside,” Claude commands, fingers tugging at the hem of one of his gloves in preparation of being in his master’s presence.

Hannah steps away from the door, standing behind the wall next to the three triplets, as they have all congregated to snoop on the master’s affairs. They whisper to one another, and Hannah gives Claude a wary look.

He opens the double doors quietly as to not break the night’s silence. At the table is Alois, seated as if ready to be served. He is still wearing his night gown, not having bothered to adorn a robe, and seems unperturbed at the darkness that would usually frighten him. He doesn’t look up from where he’s staring at the centerpiece— if his human eyes were to truly see it through the darkness— when Claude approaches.

“Light,” Claude commands, the wicks of the candles adorning the walls combusting obediently in a soft glow. Claude stops at the boy’s side.

“His Highness is early for breakfast. Were you unable to sleep, Master?” Claude inquires.

Alois doesn’t respond. He doesn’t look up. He seems completely unaware of Claude’s presence in the slightest. Odd.

“Master?” Claude repeats, leaning down to better observe the young boy’s face. He’s still not acknowledging his gaze.

Something _is_ wrong. When the boy is truly upset he tends to be hysterical— not so calm in the face of his fears. And not so oblivious to his demon’s attendance.

He kneels at the side of the chair and takes the child’s face in his hands, gently turning it to the side to direct his attention toward him fully.

The blond’s eyes are glazed and empty, his pupils dilated. He has a similar expression while bored and dissociating in his study. Appropriate to his stolen name, he seems to be in some kind of trance.

“Your Highness?” Claude tries in a murmur, stroking his thumb against a smooth cheek with upmost tenderness.

Alois makes a soft noise in his throat, though his eyes still remain unseeing.

Movement out of the corner of Claude’s eye attracts his attention to the doorway where the other servants are peering into the room. Do they not have some tasks to be doing at this hour?

Claude’s eyes slide back to the boy when he feels his little fingers grasping at his jacket sleeve inelegantly. His eyes remain unmoved, attention some place far away. When he finally speaks, his request takes Claude aback.

“Can I have this?” Alois slurs, fingers tugging at the fabric halfheartedly.

“My jacket?” Claude asks, almost hesitantly at the unexpected question, not understanding the boy’s motivations.

“No, thanks,” Alois sighs, though his fingers remain loosely latched onto the sleeve.

Claude’s eyebrows pull together in confusion. Perhaps the boy is ill. He removes his hands from the boy’s face and pulls his glove to his knuckles, exposing the skin on back of his hand. He gently brushes the golden fringe from the boy’s forehead and presses his hand to the skin there, then against his cheek, and finally the side of his neck, and finds that his temperature is within a healthy range, if not a tad bit cooler.

He leans forward and listens closely to the beating of his master’s heart, noting the slowed, soft pace, reminiscent of the serenity of his slumbering form.

Ah, perhaps the boy is simply asleep. Claude has heard him speak occasionally in his sleep, though he’s not known him to get out of bed and wander the manor in this state.

Slipping his glove back into place, he takes Alois’s hand in his to detach it from his cuff.

“Let us return to bed,” he offers softly, standing and gently pulling the boy up to his feet as well. They are bare, and will undoubtedly have to be wiped clean before being tucked under his bed covers.

Alois’s fingers curl around Claude’s as he mindlessly allows himself to be led out of the dining room. His pace is slow, his gait an unsteady wobble that Claude stabilizes by switching his hands and resting one on the small of boy’s back.

“Have a damp cloth brought to his rooms,” Claude orders as they pass by the group of servants at the door. The triplets pivot and head the opposite way down the hall, Hannah hesitantly turning to follow after them.

“I can’t believe it,” Alois mumbles, looking down at his feet as they take step after sluggish step.

Claude stays silent, waiting for him to finish his thought, but the boy simply hums quietly and shakes his head.

The route to the bedroom is not exceedingly far, though it takes much longer than usual to traverse it with Alois’s slowed pace. He often stops in his tracks, seemingly confused at his currently position, until Claude applies gentle pressure on his back again, prompting him to continue forward.

Claude has long since accepted the fact that in his torturously long life he has nothing but time. Endless opportunities to witness and undertake all of life’s multitudes of possibilities, including the incredibly mundane. Though he must admit to himself that ploddingly leading a sleepwalking child back to bed is not an activity his younger self would have foreseen him partaking in.

Neither is gently scooping him up in his arms when the little human stops to merely investigate a banister for the fourth time.

The boy doesn’t resist when lifted, lax and lamblike against his chest. His arms lie over his shoulders, face resting against the crook of his neck. He purrs and sighs, comfortable on his new perch.

The trip back to the bedroom is exponentially quicker now that Claude has control of the rate of progress, taking no time at all to finally reach the large, gilded doors. The damp cloth is already resting on the bedside table when Claude enters with his master in tow.

Carefully, the butler leans low to place the little lord down on the bed where the covers have been pushed back. He finds, however, tension upon his attempt to straighten himself.

“Nnn,” Alois moans, hands bunching up in his suit jacket and holding him in place over him.

“Master,” Claude sighs, running a hand down the boy’s back in an attempt to relax him.

It’s unsuccessful. Alois presses his cheek against Claude’s, clinging fast around his neck.

“You must sleep properly,” Claude murmurs against the boy’s deaf ear, stroking up and down his back. Alois doesn’t listen, of course, nuzzling farther and unconsciously delighting in their proximity.

Resigned, Claude decides to take advantage of the inexorable moment and press his nose against the boy’s hair, inhaling the familiar, ambrosial scent. It’s lusciously mouthwatering, tempting him in ways inappropriate for a servant to luxuriate in. But he is no mere servant, after all.

He disciplines himself in his indulgence, lest he begin mouthing at the boy’s skin in an attempt to sample him further. He must remove himself soon, before his appetite overcomes him. It wouldn’t do to defile the young lord further while he’s insensate.

With gentle hands, he detaches the boy’s grip from his collar and kneels, cupping a lithe ankle in his palm and wiping it with the damp cloth. Alois giggles sleepily at the sensation against his feet, trying to weakly wiggle them away from his butler’s grasp to no avail. Claude swiftly cleanses the boy’s soles of the minimal amount of dirt accumulated, internally commending the servants for keeping the manor pristine.

When finished, he discards the cloth and pulls the covers back fully, adjusting his human’s legs underneath and tucking him back in properly. The boy’s eyes are closed now, head reclined against his pillow and face serene.

Claude stands by his bedside, ensuring the young master remains in bed.

Not to observe his delicate chest rise and fall with his respirations.

Not to listen to his soft sighs and murmurs as he adjusts against the mattress.

And certainly not to watch his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he begins to dream.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know if you did. I may continue this fic into a more robust work.  
> If you're interested in talking about claudelois, AUs, headcanons, etc., send me a message or an ask on tumblr! talxns.tumblr.com


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